For any who want more, complete list of all posts by month since 2011
  • Somewhere Over the Rainbow


    “Hey, Dorothy? What’s up?”

    “I’m off to see the Man in the White House because I’m lost and can’t find my Auntie Michele,” said Dorothy. “Do I know you?”

    “Yeah, you know me. I’m Silas Crow. I sit on the back row of your English class and make strange noises.”

    “Oh, of course. The notorious Silas Crow. You don’t have a brain in your head,” said Dorothy.

    “I know, I know. That’s what I’ve been told. Do you think the Man in the White House could give me a brain?” asked Silas Crow.

    “Tra-la, tra-la. You are welcome to come with me and find out. The Man in the White House is supposed to be very wise.”

    Dorothy and Silas Crow began to walk together. They walked and walked.

    “Hey, Dudes, take a hike. Get outta my space. Where you going?”

    “We’re off to see the Man in the White House,” replied Silas Crow. “Dorothy told me the Man was very wise and could give me a brain.”

    “Oh, she did, did she? Well, this is where you little numskulls took a wrong turn,” growled Tim Mann who took a menacing step toward Dorothy and Silas Crow.

    Dorothy looked straight at Tim Mann and said, “Looks like someone has no heart. Shame on you for being so mean. Silas Crow may not be very bright, but at least he’s not a bully like you. If you go with us, maybe the Man in the White House could give you a heart.”

    Silas Crow nodded vigorously. “You need an attitude adjustment, Dude.”

    Tim Mann rolled his eyes but then studied the two standing before him.  Finally, he shook his head and thought, maybe I need new friends.

    “Let’s roll before I change my mind,” he snapped.

    “Tra-la, tra-la,” said Dorothy. “We are off to see the Man in the White House who is supposed to have a very big heart.”

    By and by the trio came upon a very large grey dog with huge floppy ears. He was sitting in the middle of their path, staring at them out of one blue eye and one brown one. He looked quite ferocious. Dorothy, Silas Crow and Tim Mann stopped in their tracks.

    Dorothy was the first to regain her composure and whistled for the dog to come to her. The dog bolted in the opposite direction.

    “Fraidy Dog, Fraidy Dog,” mocked Tim Mann who had no heart.

    Silas Crow joined in the chant because he had no brain.

    Dorothy gave them an icy stare and called after the frightened animal, “Please come back and go with us. We are going to see the Man in the White House – maybe he could give you courage.”

    As the group turned to resume their journey, the cowardly dog followed a few paces behind.

    “Tra-la, tra-la,” sang Dorothy happily. “We are off to see the brave, kind, wise Man in the White House who will give Fraidy Dog courage, Tim Mann a new heart, Silas Crow a new brain and me a map to find my way home to Auntie Michele.”

    The little foursome traveled far and wide, thither and yon, until finally one day they reached the White House. Much to everyone’s surprise, the White House was surrounded by a very high fence and armed guards at the gate. Silas Crow, Tim Mann, and Fraidy Dog looked at Dorothy.

    Not to be outdone, Dorothy boldly approached one of the guards and asked, “Excuse me, kind sir, but we have come a long way to speak with the Man in the White House. Do you know where he is?”

    The guard shrugged and said, “You might try MahRahLahgo.”

    Dorothy woke up.

     

  • The Hereafter – Grimes County Style


    Changing flowers in Fairview Cemetery today

    for Granny Selma’s parents

    and for my dad, mom and their parents

    (my friend Tinabeth came to help)

    Tinabeth trimmed the crepe myrtles…

    while I arranged the flowers

    (and Pretty took pictures)

    Spike and Charly ran so fast that the 

    Hounds couldn’t catch ’em

    Hey, where are our names?

    The view from our family plot is truly fair

    When Pretty and I got to the cemetery this morning, there was a note under a stone at our grave that read Sheila, here’s my phone number. Call me. It was signed by Warren Wood and dated 03-28-17. I picked up my cell phone and gave him a call.

    Warren was one of my favorite people when I was growing up. He lived up the dirt road from us, played basketball on my dad’s high school team, and usually sat with me every Friday night at the Richards Cafe where his mother made the best hamburgers ever. I called him, and he said he was still in the area at his house in Anderson and would meet me at the cemetery – which he did. I hadn’t seen Warren in 60 years, but we have kept in contact since my first book Deep in the Heart was published in 2007. Wow. Such a great visit.

    His parents are near mine

    Being in the old familiar places with old familiar friends was a highlight of our trip to Montgomery and Grimes Counties for the past two days, but tomorrow it’s time to say goodbye to family and friends once more as we turn north toward Dallas and our Final Four destination.

    Go Gamecocks!!!

  • Daniel Boone? No – Daniel Pratt…


    In 1819 a twenty-year-old man from New Hampshire finished a four-year apprenticeship in architecture and heeded the words of Horace Greeley to leave his New England home and go west, young man, go west.  He ended up in Savannah, Georgia.

    Twenty years later this same man would leave his Georgia home with a wife, two slaves, enough materials to build 50 cotton gins and the knowledge necessary to run a plant that manufactured them. His name was Daniel Pratt.

    We stayed last night in the town Daniel created for the workers in his cotton gin plant: Prattville, Alabama. Pretty took us on a tour of the historic downtown area this morning. We love an historic downtown area – particularly one as beautiful as this one. Imagine what this looked like in 1839 – before the Civil War – one man’s dream.

    Daniel Pratt was one of Alabama’s first industrialists

    Daniel has his own personal historic district now

    My friend had a bird’s eye view of the falls

    …and sat on the remnants of history

    Guess who else was from Prattville besides Daniel Pratt?

    Mustang Sally Wilson Pickett, Jr.

    Had to say goodbye to the wisteria and Prattville

    On the road again – Charly perches atop Yeti cooler

    Getting closer…

    Rest area, my you-know-what

    I am so tired. Please, God, get me out of this vehicle.

    Spike’s prayers were answered…we have stopped for the night in Slidell, Louisiana, which is 30 miles from New Orleans.

    We are sneaking up on it.

  • Another Post Card from the Edge…of Time


    March 21, 1907

    Dear Luke, I hope you are behaving yourself. You see what can happen if you don’t. Please come home soon. Your wife, Bessie

  • Saints and Sinners Festival in NOLA


    Saints and Sinners Literary Festival, here we come – this week. Unbelievable. I submitted my short story last summer with low expectations of winning the Tennessee Williams Fiction Prize because I have never been recognized as a fiction writer, but lo and behold, my story The Gods are Stacked against Us became a finalist in the contest which meant it will be included in the SAS Anthology for 2017 which, in turn, meant an invitation to read at the festival this month.

    So Pretty and I will be off to New Orleans like a herd of turtles in a matter of days. What an odd time to leave in the middle of moving out of Casa de Canterbury to Casa de Cardinal, someone might think (and someone would be correct). The vicissitudes of life aren’t always coordinated properly, as my daddy used to say when he waxed eloquently about them, and he should have known that if anyone did since he died right in the middle of them at age 51.

    I will participate with four other writers on a panel called Home is Where the Art Is, or Is It?  to discuss the impact our homes have on our work…I’m really looking forward to talking about the importance of time and place to me in my work. Plus, I’ll have an opportunity to read an excerpt from my short story during a reading session along with eight other finalists.

    The festival brings together leading poets, authors and other literati notables in the LGBTQ community – I recognize many of their names and writing from years of reading and adulation and will now have the opportunity to meet and greet them over cocktails and heavy hors d’oeuvres on Bourbon Street Friday evening.

    I’m trying to prepare myself to talk about literary things without sounding too “un-literary.”  Let’s see…

    Where did you study writing, and how does that affect your writing style?

    That’s a tough one. I’ve had two writing classes. The first was a business communications class at UT Austin in 1966 that focused on how to write a good business letter with an emphasis on brevity – say more with less was the mantra. Be direct – no adverbs, a few adjectives here and there, but mostly noun, verb combo and a simple Dear Sir or Madam beginning with a Sincerely yours ending. Cut and dry. No horsing around. No nonsense.

    My second writing class was in 2006 at Midlands Technical College for a six-week Monday-night adult learning class that focused on the basic elements of fiction writing. My accomplishment was a story I called Payday Someday which turned out to be the first chapter of my first book Deep in the Heart. Nonfiction actually, but hey, nothing’s perfect.

    Hm. I think I’ll skip that question and move on to Why do you write?

    I write because I can’t keep myself from writing. I write because I can speak for those who have no voice and continue the fight for fairness and respect I’ve always believed in. I write because Pretty, my Aunt Lucille and a host of people, some known, some unknown love to read what I write. I write because I hope, along with many other aging Baby Boomers,  to have a legacy – that my words will survive me.

    Okay. Way too heavy for cocktail party conversation. Skip that one, too.

    Let’s try Hi how are you? Where are you from?

    Now that’s a complicated question. I was born and raised in rural Grimes County, Texas…

    Eyes are rolling. People walking away. Clearly small talk not my strength.

    Pretty, can I get you another diet coke??